


O Love Is Handsome (And Love Is Kind)

by MagitekUnit05953234



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Cape Caem (Final Fantasy XV), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, I don't know, Introspection, Let them cuddle, M/M, References to Depression, maybe also that one, maybe it's fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 04:50:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16716876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagitekUnit05953234/pseuds/MagitekUnit05953234
Summary: Caem feels like homesickness. Prompto breathes in the sea air and tries not to think too much about it.





	O Love Is Handsome (And Love Is Kind)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Charlie_chan16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie_chan16/gifts), [Starcrossedsky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starcrossedsky/gifts).



> I wrote this entirely between 4 and 4:30 am the morning after Thanksgiving while ridiculously sleep deprived. I set out to write fluff. I have no idea if it worked.   
> Gods help me.   
> Title from "The Water is Wide," a popular folk song with like a billion different variants.

There’s something about Cape Caem that makes Prompto feel wistful. He can never quite pin it on one thing (an empty childhood house made up of a box of an apartment in the slums? a city in ruins, decaying and dead under an uncaring sky? a general malaise that Prompto has never managed to shake from his bones no matter what door he sets his shoes beside in the evenings?) but there’s something that… well. There’s just  _ something _ about it. Caem feels like homesickness, even though Prompto’s never had a proper home to miss.

This windy, salt-tinged night finds Prompto staring out into the ocean, watching the endless waters swirl into the abyss that only those awake for the witching hour can ever witness. The nightly gloom sets down upon Lucis like a heavy blanket with none of the comfort included. 

Prompto has stayed awake through the dark hours more often than he’d like. 

He breathes in the sea air and tries not to think. 

It works for a while, until a distant door opens and closes around the front of the house. Prompto is tempted to slink away to the lighthouse or the docks, out of sight (and out of mind, hopefully) but he knows that whoever’s come out is probably looking for him. He stays put and waits to be found. 

“Hey,” Noct says. He leans against the railing to Prompto’s left, casual as anything even when clad in silk monogrammed pajamas and sporting ridiculous bedhead.

“Hey,” Prompto replies. He breathes out and there’s a shudder to it. He wonders if Noct can tell. 

“You wanna come back in?” Noct doesn't bother asking if Prompto is okay which is nice. There’s nothing Prompto hates more than talking about himself (talking for  _ real _ — he can joke all day but when he has to talk about himself  _ seriously _ it’s time to bail). He’ll take a quiet night in bed over a teary discussion about the dark, churning emptiness inside him any day. That one night on the rooftop in Old Lestallum was more than enough for Prompto for the next century, thank you very much. 

“Sure,” Prompto stretches. His hands are clasped, fingers interlaced above his head, and his palms are toward the sky. “Getting a little chilly anyway.”

It’s not any colder than it was during the day, when Prompto loudly declared he could hardly stand the heat and made a show of tearing off his vest and throwing it in Noct’s face. The excuse isn’t taken with anywhere near the suspicion it probably deserves. 

Prompto trails into Caem behind Noct, feeling a little more like Noct’s shadow than a person in his own right. When they enter, Prompto is greeted by essentially the same scene he expected to be waiting for him. 

Gladio and Ignis wait in the kitchen, each dressed down to their sleepwear (or at least, a vaguely appropriate variety of it in Gladio’s case, the shameless heathen) and chatting quietly. 

“You didn’t have to wait for me you know,” Prompto ducks his head under the combined gaze of his three boyfriends. “I woulda been in after a bit.”

“Bed’s not the same without you,” Noct yawns. 

“Not that that stopped you from sleeping in the first place, highness,” Ignis adds, though not without an amused half-smile. 

Noct groans at the honorific. “Drop it, Specs…”

“The day he does is the day he dies,” Gladio finishes off his mug and leaves it beside the sink, probably to wash with the breakfast dishes.

“Not anytime soon, I should think,” Ignis turns on the faucet with his free hand and rinses out Gladio’s mug. “Do at least attempt some courtesy, Gladio. We are guests here.”

Prompto is herded into bed in the guest bedroom, where he’s squeezed into the middle of the sleepiest four-man battle for room and blanket that Eos has ever seen. He ends up pressed into Gladio’s side with Noct clingy and close against Prompto’s front. Iggy’s arm is around Noct, and his fingertips are soft against Prompto’s bicep. 

Prompto doesn't dream for once. It’s nice. 

When the sun rises in the morning and Prompto awakens to Ignis slowly extricating himself from the bed that is much too small for two much less four, Prompto feels a warmth he isn't sure what to do with. Caem feels a little fuller. 

“Are you getting up, Prompto?” Ignis’s voice is soft— not just in volume, but in feeling too. Prompto could just about burst. 

“I dunno,” Prompto sighs. He feels overwarm, practically plastered to Gladio as he is, but this moment is just too nice to let go of. “Why don’t you come back to bed, Iggy? Have an easy morning.”

Ignis pauses, his day clothes already in his hands and ready to be worn through a whole day of looking unfairly flawless while annihilating daemons or monsters or whatever. Prompto isn’t jealous so much as unsure as to how he got so lucky. 

“Perhaps I shall,” Ignis places his clothes, neatly folded with tight corners, on the nightstand and ever so carefully retakes his place on the right side of the bed. “There is hardly any shame in taking a morning for yourself now and then I suppose.”

“Right,” Prompto was whispering but tries to drop his volume even quieter when Gladio shifts in his sleep, imparting some absent mumbles into the back of Prompto’s neck falling back into deep slumber. 

They don't emerge from bed until an hour before noon. 


End file.
